Letting Go in Three Parts
by Miandrethal
Summary: Disclaimer: Three women, three ways Spock has to let them go.  Three little vignettes; and exercise in tone and mood. There is character death and this is quite sad/heartwarming.


**Letting Go in Three Parts**

**I. Mother**

The wall is tall and wide with rounded edges and chiseled names upon silky, green marble. The names read off alphabetically by surname the billions of those lost during the Battle of Vulcan. Spock wanders stilly down the paved path, carrying a single Stargazer Lily, searching for his mother's name. There are many around him doing the same, some have found their loved one's name and are praying quietly, some are weeping, and some are wailing. He sees Nyota in the distance, small tears streaming down her face as she runs her fingers over the etched name of Gaila. It was she who convinced him to come, saying that he needed catharsis. He did not agree, and yet he found himself pulling on a light jacket and accompanying her to the memorial.

This is his first visit. It is exactly what he expects.

The outward displays of emotion make Spock slightly uncomfortable. He understands the need for humans and other alien races to express their emotions outwardly, but the serenity of death to many Vulcans is like another step to the enlightenment that they all seek.

_The outpoured anguish and tears are illogi…_

His feet stop as he sees her name, his mother's name etched in the dark marble. His heartbeat quickens, his breath catches in his throat, and he feels his chest constricting. The sensation is new and foreign, and Spock is transfixed.

It is just a name on a wall. His mother's name is on a wall.

His **dead** mother's name is on this wall.

And as he stares at her name, he realizes that in death is finality.

He will never receive an oversized, hand-knit sweater from her.

He will never be interrupted in his research by a vid-phone call from his mother.

He will never be able to taste her failed attempts at Plomeek soup again.

He will never see her pruning her roses.

There will be no more catching her pulling his father into a rare moment of spontaneity like dancing in the rain, or kissing in a secluded hallway.

Her smile, her laugh, her voice, her singing are all gone, and he will never see them again.

The finality of it all is like a weight he cannot bear. There is a weakness to his limbs, a rush of heat to his face, a chalky taste to his mouth, and unrecognizable wetness sliding down his face. For a split second he wonders if it's raining, and then realizes that there is not a cloud in the sky. His tears are unapologetic, and he tries to stop them, but not even Vulcan heritage can control raw emotion. Embarrassed by his weakness, Spock shifts his head from side to side to see if anyone is watching. Everyone is preoccupied in their own mourning, their own sadness to notice the sadness of others. And for some strange reason, Spock finds solace and solidarity in the joined group, and is liberated by the feeling of unrestrained emotions.

He doesn't wipe the tears away, just allows them to flow. He sits the flower down in front of the wall and begins to lowly sing the song that his mother always sang for him:

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night,_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly._

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arrive._

_Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly._

_Into the light of a dark black night. _

He feels Nyota's hand in his, and turns with teary eyes to meet her teary eyes. She pulls his head down and kisses the tears from his eyes and they embrace and cry together.

**II. Daughter**

Spock could remember the first time her tiny fist gripped his forefinger, the first time she opened her eyes, and both of them recognized one another as father and daughter. It didn't seem like twenty-five years ago; the memory was so vivid that Spock could have sworn it was only the day prior that he'd met his daughter, Mariama, for the first time.

She is the spitting image of her father, with his caramel-colored eyes and pointed ears, with only a slight upward slant of the eyebrow. She has her mother's buttery, brown complexion and thicker, coarser hair that pop in springy, uncontrollable coils around her striking face like a jet black halo. Her smile is her mother's. Though Mariama would argue that she and her father share the same toothy grin, as she is one of the few people that has seen him light up in that particular gesture.

Spock stands behind her, watching, reminiscing as she sits in front of a vanity mirror, applying makeup and a single strand of grayish-blue pearls around her neck. It is her "_something blue" _as is traditional for these occasions. He cannot help but stare at the woman that is before him and wonder where the time went. He wonders how he managed to watch the small creature that gripped his finger with such tiny life-force could possibly be the poised woman reflected in the mirror.

She is leaving him today; to be given away to another man for him to love, care, and honor her. And it is not as if Spock doesn't approve of her husband-to-be or trust Mariama's judgment; Spock just knows that James Tiberius Kirk jr. could never love her, or care for her, or honor her the way that he does. Spock never thought that he would feel so unequivocally tied to another being as he does with his daughter. His love for her is unconditional, unfaltering, and immovable. He loved her before he even saw her, before he even knew her form, before she was even more than a form in her mother's womb, Spock knew that he would die to protect her, steal and beg to provide for her, and love her forever.

She was their only. She was their gift from God.

"It is time," Spock says, his voice hoarser than either is used to. When she stands, she is elegant in the ecru dress. The gown encompasses her _"something old, and something borrowed,"_ as it is the same that her mother wore those many years ago. It is only now, as Spock helps place the veil on her head that he understands the amount of trust his father-in-law put into him, and the amount of effort it takes to let go of the girl and allow her to be a woman.

With each step they take towards the altar, Spock sees the memories flash before him. From the day they brought her home from the hospital to the day she graduated top of her class at Starfleet, foregoing either of her parent's natures and becoming an Engineer. As he shifts through the catalogue of memories, he cannot find one instance of ever regretting her presence in his life. And, somehow, understanding how much and how strongly he loves Mariama as such lets Spock know that his father is much the same despite their prior differences.

The last step is taken and Spock unhooks his arm from hers. He turns, lifts her veil and sees his daughter for the last time as she is. Her eyes are watery with unshed tears, and instead of a kiss to the cheek like in most Terran weddings, Spock lifts up the forefinger of his right hand and she clutches it with her left fist, just like the first time they met. To most they say nothing, but they are speaking, last words, words of encouragement, words of trust and truth, through the impenetrable link. She nods in understanding of all the secrets he tells hers. He bows his head, inhales closing his eyes, and releases the breath with a shudder.

They release, the link still strong, and he lowers her veil, shading her, rewrapping her as a gift for Kirk Jr. He is the _"something new," _the one she chose to take his place. Spock offers Kirk Jr. the Vulcan salute and turns to join his wife for the rest of the ceremony. As he nears the pew, he feels the warm tug and tingle that is his daughter's presence in his mind. And in a very faint, fleeting tone he hears her voice murmur:

"_I am and ever shall be your daughter." _

**III. Wife**

Nyota always had a preoccupation with giraffes; it bordered on fixation. She didn't even call them giraffes, she called them "mew-mews," because of the flute-like sound they made when speaking with their mate. An avid communicator, Nyota was fascinated by all types of language, but the silent, graceful way giraffes spoke love always touched her deeply. She always said that giraffes reminded her of their marriage; sometimes there was no need for words.

Even now in the winter of her life, when the disease has usurped her brain, she still waxes on about giraffes to him. Some days she doesn't even know his name or her name, or where she is, but she speaks of lovely courtship rituals between the tall mammals and fondly of a lover that reminds her of her beloved giraffes. Those are the days that are hard to bear; to hear her speak of him as if he is not there. As if he'd long left and all she has are the memories.

Both Nyota and Spock knew the downfall of their union before entering into it. They knew that the day would come when Nyota's Terran genes would work against his Vulcan ones. She would be gray first, her eyesight would fade, her health would slip, her body would become feeble and she would be gone first. This was an accepted, necessary evil, one that Spock was prepared to bear. What Spock was not planning for was to lose Nyota in mind before he lost her in body.

Some days were better than others, of course. But she had long ago forgotten who he was, the part of her life- him- a distant and pleasant memory that she spoke of often. There would be some days that she would wake and he could feel her presence as he once did in his mind, only frail and weak. On those days she would look at him with open, doe eyes that reminded him of that fateful kiss in the turbolift so many years ago. It was almost as if she could pinpoint who he was, and her face would shift with recollection of his features, but not knowing the name. On those days he could hear her mind whisper:

_I know your face. I know your face. I know… your…_

On other days she wouldn't know Spock at all, but would speak fondly of a man she once loved to him. Nyota would take her soft hands and run them over his ears and smile at him and laugh. On those days is when she talked of giraffes, and her childhood in Africa, and how much she loved the strange man. She would recall things he once taught her before their love affair began. She would make him blush with memories of them making love in his office at Starfleet, make him laugh (literally laugh) at the anecdotal take she had on his personality. Sometimes, rarely, she would make him weep at the tender times they'd shared, reciting the words verbatim in Vulcan and Standard and any other Federation language she could remember.

And on some days, she said nothing. Some days her mind was nothing but static. Those were the days that she stared catatonically at a wall, her eyes lifeless, open yet unseeing. It was on days like that when Spock hated to admit to himself the regret he sometimes felt for his Vulcan genes and her Terran ones. He would never speak those words aloud, and he tap danced around the thought plying himself with logic. He and Nyota had been married for seventy years, and sixty-seven of those years had been utter bliss. Seventy years is more than his father got, more than any of his long-passed comrades got, and more than most marriages were built.

Spock was selfish. He wanted more time.

He was not finished loving her yet. He was not ready to fade into the back of her memory, distant. He was not a comparison to giraffes, he was _her giraffe_, the one that courted her with soft, flute-like songs, the one that spoke to her with body language and thought. He wanted more time with her, so he bought her giraffes so that his memory would be ever present in her mind. She had whole rooms filled with stuffed giraffes, figurines, crystal giraffes, hanged pictures, paintings. There were scarves, purses, curtains, picture frames, lamps, bed linens and throw pillows. And on their seventieth wedding anniversary, Spock purchased a platinum-band, giraffe diamond ring for her. She would look down on it fondly and recount the day her lover had given it to her as if it were during the earlier days of their courtship.

Today is her birthday, probably one of her last, as she spends more and more days catatonic. Spock knows the progress, he's studied enough cases to know that disease will degenerate her brilliant mind until she become nothing but an empty shell, she will slip into deep coma and then death. But while she still has moments of lucidity, Spock takes her where she said she wanted to spend her last years, where she wants to be buried. Spock takes her home, to Africa, where a Bantu woman can see the beautiful live beasts of her youth. Her parents left them their home, which sits on a dusky grassland, facing the east.

It is early morning, and Spock has made her a small breakfast of wild berries and wheat pancakes. He feeds her until he senses she is no longer hungry, wipes her mouth, and then they sit and wait for the sunrise.

"_Africa is layered with life, Spock. It is the mother, the cradle, the womb of all Terran being and culture. You can smell it in the air, hear it in the chirping of the birds, and feel the rhythm in the pounding hooves of the antelope or the roar of the lion."_

He turns to look at her, and her eyes are still blank and lost. He just heard her say his name through the link. She hasn't called him by his name in three years, 5 months, 2 weeks, 14 days, 7 hours, and 22 minutes, and he longs to hear her touch his mind with it again.

"Sp…Sp…ock," the word leaves her mouth, his name, and when he looks over at her she is staring back at him with recognition. It takes all of his Vulcan control not to cry.

"_You need not speak vocally; I just need to hear you, Nyota. I beg you,"_ even his mental voice is weak.

"_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," _he remembers those words from a tragic day in the youth of his life. This time she apologizes for her condition, for the pain she never wanted him to go through. Her link with him is the strongest it's been in three years. He can feel everything about her that was lost. A great pit is stalled in his chest, and is only eased when she reaches out her hand with her index and middle finger extended and touches it to his.

"_Touching, yet not touching; apart but never parted," _she recites their bonding vows and a smile comes to her face and he can feel her love radiate through their bond. And she says his name over and over and over, remembering who he is and what he meant to her. Tears stream down her face and he wipes them away.

"_Do not cry ashayam, this time should not be used for tears," _he nods towards the rising sun and the bustling wildlife. Coming across the horizon are two giraffes, slowly walking towards a high tree and the watering hole. The shorter of the two, the female, cannot reach the leaves and her mate helps her by grabbing the branch with his mouth and holding it down so that she may eat. When they retire to the watering hole, the male takes first drink, and she stands behind him watching for his safety, as they are alone on this stretch of savannah.

He feels her slipping slowly as they watch the giraffes walk across the stretch of land in front of them. He feels her mind shrinking back into slight lucidity, where he is a distant memory, and he also feels her fight it. The anguish on her face as his name starts to slip away. He sees it as an unraveling sweater; a whole piece becoming nothing but balled, jumbled yarn. He pleads with her to stay just a bit longer. He needs more time with her.

"_I… know your face. I know your face…" _and now she's gone…"_giraffes remind me of this lover I had once… I loved him and he loved me. I wish I could remember his name…"_

She takes a pause between her story to look at him with a warm smile, notice their fingers touching, and then back to the giraffes who are embracing by wrapping their necks around one another. In a small moment, Spock moves in closer to her, wrapping his arm around her, holding her. He needs more time. He craves more time. He knows that he will not get anymore times like the one he just had. He knows that he may never hear her say his name again. So he holds her, holds this memory of Africa, giraffes, the both of them, the way the sound of her voice saying his name brought him instant bliss. He holds onto the good memories so that he can start letting her go.


End file.
